not your (manic pixie dream) girl
by glossier
Summary: In which Ochako is an awful cook and Katsuki surprisingly... isn't. — kacchako, an alphabet collection of oneshots [featured: Chopped! c/z]
1. A - the Art of seduction

**_a/n:** inspired by the person Uraraka became during her battle with Bakugou. Love that.  
so this, supposedly, is an alphabet collection of one-shots/drabbles for Kacchako, from canon to AUs, etc.

* * *

 **not your (manic pixie dream) girl**

A - _The Art of Seduction _OR _ angels, demons, and Uraraka Ochako_

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She's straddling him, neither by will nor force. Simply and solely by duty.

(shamefully, embarrassingly, and evidently prudishly so)

His dark eyes are hazy, relaxed, even (as if this is nothing new to him or as if this is nothing at _all_ ) and Ochako suddenly feels faint, despite not having used an ounce of her quirk. How humiliating.

"Uraraka-chan," she flinches at her name, eyes flickering over to the teammate addressing her to her right. For a frog, Tsuyu seems to be watching her like a hawk. "You're getting redder by the second. You're about to put Kirishima-kun's hair to shame."

Bakugou Katsuki almost smirks, but the uncomfortability of their situation makes it difficult to be the level of smug he strives to be. He tries his best to conceal it, gritting his teeth and spewing out, "From Angelface to Cherrybomb."

She would slap him but she knows he'd catch her hand before the clap could land a hefty sting on his cheek. It's as if he could either foresee her instincts or read her mind; regardless, always undeniably being two steps ahead of her, shown in the way his brow raises, sharp teeth becoming visible.

"I'm _not_ Deku, you know," Katsuki snidely comments with that signature Bakugou Scowl. "So quit acting like I am. There's no reason to get all weak and flushed over this. It's just a fucking act; you _do_ realize that, right? Get your shit together."

The Asui girl intervenes, wide-eyed and adding, "He's got a point. You've gotta keep your cool, Uraraka-chan. Your mission is to seduce and distract the leader of the underground drug affiliation. If you can successfully do that, it'll make our parts much easier: for Bakugou-kun to fight off the remaining members without notice, and for me to be able to search the premises and obtain the classified information with a quick jab of my tongue."

"Remember, you're the bait," he remarks.

The brunette sighs in resignation before repeating, "I'm the bait."

When Aizawa-sensei had informed them of the separate missions the class were to go on, having categorized them in randomized groups of three to help the police force with considerably dangerous unsolved cases around the district, playing the deceiving role of some kind of false, but enticing succubus had been the furthest thing Uraraka Ochako expected (if she had even expected anything like this at all.)

Of course, with complete and utter indignation to Tsuyu's plan, she'd instinctively demanded a reconsideration on who were to take on the roll of the "seductress," questioning the sanity of it all. In time, she reluctantly acquiesced, especially having been pointed out that Tsuyu's camouflaging and efficient abilities enabled her the proper qualities to obtain the files needed to conclude their mission. And well, the remaining group member probably couldn't seduce anybody if he tried, Tsuyu had implicated. Thus followed her ultimate compliance.

(With a shitload of regret, she learns, when finding herself sitting in the lap of Bakugou Katsuki.)

 _It'sforpracticeit'sforpracticeit'sforpracticeit'sforprac_ —

"You've got the sex appeal of a chair," he deadpans, disrupting her incessant internal reminders set to distract her from the fact that his groin is sunk in between her thighs on the small seat they're sharing. "Actually, scratch that. Chairs get a lot of ass."

" _Shut UP_ ," she fumes.

"We're fucking dead if you keep this shit up."

The art of gravity? Check. The art of heroism? Check. The art of seduction? Now that's something she's never particularly prioritized and had yet to even _consider_ mastering prior to her discovery of this mission. The painstaking evidence of such is enough for her to lose her composure altogether.

...But what would Deku do?

He'd get it over with! He'd assume this position with force, determination—complete configuration of his original personality. He would become his part and play the goddamn best part he could. He would become the _best_.

Feeling a little more dignified, Ochako's stare hardens, narrowing her pupils onto her presumed prey. There is an instant change in his expression, seen in a slight layer of confusion that takes over the red of his eyes. He doesn't fail to notice her change in demeanor, but she knows she must outwit him. But _how_? If this had been Mineta or Kaminari, or hell, even Iida, this would have been over in a flash and her job would have been completed as soon as her ass touched any of their laps.

They don't even know the sexual orientation of this so-called villain! He could be gay, for all they'd known. Their plan would go to shit instantly.

Tsuyu's poor preparation and Bakugou's stubbornness would be to blame. And she'd be put to death.

It really is life or death. She has the most dangerous position of the three. She must not fail.

Katsuki watches as her stare suddenly falters from its lock on his own to shift down to her fingers, which she fiddles with in the limited space between their chests.

"Sorry," she tells him weakly. "Tsuyu-chan, could you give us a minute?"

The dark haired member eyes them suspiciously, but without another word, blinks and exits.

"I know you're not Deku," Ochako states, making herself more comfortable atop him.

"Fuck right I'm not," he annoyingly reaffirms. He tries to sit upward, but is halted by her hand on his chest, pushing him against the back of the chair. "What're you—"

Get him.

"You're just," she hesitates, swallowing the act. "A lot cooler."

Her pupils flicker back up to his, and she shrugs, knowing her cheeks have been set aflame. There's no going back now.

"It's hard not to be nervous in my position."

Her hand is still pressed against him, keeping him in place. Ochako lets her slender fingers dance upward, moving from fiddling with the fabric at his chest toward the the collar of his shirt, slightly grazing the exposed skin of his broad shoulders in the midst of doing so. She releases a sigh and the fact that he can't tell if this is purposefully and strategically done or it's solely her usual naive oblivion frustrates him to no end. For once, he can't seem to predict her next move. She's doing surprisingly well, though. And for him, this situation is entering dangerous territory.

"Why the hell is that?" he asks, curious. If this is some sort of challenge, he won't decline. He doesn't lose.

This is the exact thing that Ochako feared—the boy playing along. She should have expected this. Bakugou Katsuki has never been one to back down. And if there's one thing she's learned from their encounters, whether from training or through the banters in their shared living space, is that she should always be prepared for his arrogant antics. And well, argumentation comes in different forms: seduction, apparently, being one of them.

Count on him to ignite some kind of spark in her each and every time he spits fire. It's almost… _exciting_ , every time. Seeing him retaliate, and she, in turn, getting worked up. With him, she will never settle. She will always give him her all.

And if that means acting a little egregiously, then so be it.

Her voice becomes softer and the fragility of it is deceptive, to her advantage. (She's sure no one would expect this of her. Their peers are alwaysalways _always_ underestimating her abilities, except for Bakugou, that is.) "I've imagined a moment like this before. It did go a little differently, though."

"S'that so?" And he sounds so cavalier, _too_ cavalier. She's acting, surely, and apparently, so is he. That's right: he, too, must be playing a role. All the more challenging. He's being calm and collected and cool, as if trying to pull a Todoroki Shouto and it's throwing her slightly off balance.

Then it clicks.

Off balance.

"I'm sure at this point," she quirks up, while simultaneously activating her power. "According to the movies, the two of us would most likely be having intercourse by now."

Before he could interject an off-handed comment on the types of movies she's been watching and whether or not Mineta had influenced her to watch some kind of deadbeat pornography, she continues.

"Touch me."

Fucking Mineta.

Ochako slides deeper into his lap as gravity begins to fail their masses, allowing his chest to envelope her and she closes the space between them. Their sudden flight catches him off guard. To her surprise, he's much more built than she'd thought. She feels the body heat consuming her and she's positive she's going to lose her cool soon. She's hoping he does first. Professionalism, she reminds herself, forcing her self consciousness down. This is an _act_.

He has no control over floating, and is simply left to her guidance. She knows this fact would unravel him. Having to be slightly reliant on another—a low blow to his pride.

Sweet talking and small gestures aren't enough to turn him on. She'd hoped primarily boosting his ego would help, and she could have sworn it had in the beginning. Had her strategy faltered? Had she been too obvious? Or too pathetic? She finally understands how Yaoyorozu Momo had initially felt when being teamed with Todoroki during the end of their first term testing.

He breaks eye contact quickly, before she can study his expression. He isn't sure if the hollow feeling that had conjured in his stomach is due to the lack of gravitational pull or if it's something that had been caused by her scheme. Or perhaps even something else; how her hair falls and how her voice drips and—

He doesn't let his thoughts linger. Katsuki drops his head. This isn't a battle that suited his strengths.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath. His scowl deepens, hidden by his bangs. His hands continue to clench at his sides.

Quick— _this is it—_ while he's weak.

"Uraraka," he grits her name through his teeth.

She's all torture and tease and devilish under that angelic demeanor. But no one would believe him. This is her upperhand. This is where she wins.

"Given up?" she almost sounds smug, and Katsuki wonders when the roles reversed, disgusted at the concept. It's that phrase that stimulates a ferocity, a venom of some sort, that urges him to keep at it.

He glares, a smirk prying the corner of his lips. He wonders how far she'd take this scenario. He wouldn't be the one to initiate any physical act since the last thing he wants is to sexually assault the bitch.

(but)

There's no harm in provoking her. He's curious to see what she has up her sleeve—the length she's willing to go for the sake of this mission.

It's a challenge being unable to move without any physical movement coming off as some sort of dry-hump or thrust. He suffices, staying still from the chest down and instead, makes use of his upper body, using a hand to brush a stray hair behind her ear. Bitches love that shit, don't they? "It's like you don't know me at all."

If this means he's going to play it gentle, she has no other option than to play it how he likes.

Ochako uses the force of her quirk to push his back against one of the room's walls with heightened speed. The strength of the move causes the concrete foundation to break entirely.

"Didn't know bitches liked it rough," the topnotch ass of a boy coughs. They're still midair, with the slight support of a fallen ledge and the uncomfortable cracks of the exterior digging into his back.

"Guess you don't really know me at all, either," she breathes, hair disheveled and lashes fluttering open, revealing the devil's eyes.

He tastes a hint of blood in the inside of his cheek. Fucking damn everything about this scenario is killer. From the fact that this girl is much more than what meets the eye: all force, a ticking bomb, a go after go after _go_. She doesn't give up, despite how obvious it is that she wouldn't be able to stand a chance against him on battlegrounds. She still goes and will go, and will lose with all her might. He thinks it's attractive. Real fucking attractive.

What makes matters worse is that she's Deku's girl. He knows this. _Everybody_ knows this.

And it makes Bakugou Katsuki want her _more_.

The timid moan that erupts from between her wet lips as she tightens her thighs around his hips and pushes her unmentionable place deeper into him steals his breath.

He's fucked.

She hasn't even kissed him and they're both fully fucking clothed and it's fucking Uraraka Ochako.

This is fucking _sinful_.

With that, she hops off his lap, leaving the (rather hard) evidence of her successful pursuit behind, before letting a whisper trail across the shell of his ear. Familiar words. _His_ words. Minus the profanity, in a tone so innocent, so mocking, so disrespectfully _deceiving_ that no one, not even Deku, could imagine her saying.

"There's no reason to get all weak and flushed over this. It's just an act; you do realize that, right? Get it together."

The fucking _brat_.

And people think _he's_ the hellraiser?

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.

"Seems to me that Bakugou-kun has a soft spot," Tsuyu notably observes, studying the damage done to the room after the two departed from their (rather awkward) practice encounter. From what she can gather, the destruction had been due to Ochako, confirmed by how Katsuki had shamefully admitted that the plan would run quite smoothly afterward. There had been no further commentary.

(besides his angry, obscene, incomprehensible muttering as he retreated away)

"Or a hard on," Mineta corrects, also studying the havoc of the practice room.

The two nod in agreement.

.

.

 _fin._

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 **_a/n:** so, a few things. this did not turn out how i wanted at all, and i'm finding it really irksome and annoying. i even lost inspiration several times writing it and then got annoyed with the entire concept altogether. especially with the ooc-ness of it all.

i guess in my defense...i've never written for any of the characters in bnha (first timer!) and i also haven't written any fics since October (tragic) but other than that... if you made it this far to the point where you're reading this author's note! then thank you for taking the time to read this shitty piece of work, it _does_ mean a lot regardless

and since this is going to be a series of one shots and all that jazz, feel free to send prompts :)


	2. B - Bakers, Bookworms, and Bombshells

**_a/n:** AU.

* * *

 **not your (manic pixie dream) girl**

B \- _B_ _akers, B_ _ookworms, and B_ _ombshells, oh my!  
_ In which Bakugou Katsuki's a regular at a bakery. And no, not because of the fucking angel-faced worker who always has his order ready before he even arrives.

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So he's here again, as he is every Thursday at 2:40-ish pm. He's taken a particular liking to this bakery, a hidden gem his mother had found one afternoon. She'd brought home about half a dozen (unasked for) pastries that day, and for once, Bakugou Katsuki and his birth giver were in agreement over the phenomenal taste of the baked goods—after he had given them a try, that is.

Since then, he had been coming on his own, once a week to get his dose of freshly brewed dark roast (none of that cheap, millennial-loving shit at the local coffee chain, all mediocrity and overhype that're _always_ so disgustingly cramped with high schoolers ditching class.) Instead, he favored this family-ran cafe and bakery that never ran too busy the day he particularly had no classes scheduled, allowing him to do his homework in peace. Fast wifi, no chances of running into deadbeat classmates, or anyone he knew, for the matter, allowing him the privilege of temporarily taking advantage of its spacious setting, minimalist interior design, whilst enjoying the consistent aroma of freshly baked kouign amanns and French baguettes.

Oh yeah, and there's a cute girl that works these mornings. Like, a really fucking cute girl. She's kind of doll-like really, round-faced with big eyes, pink cheeks. Her hair is usually astray, and she likes to have hot cocoa and store-bought mochi on her breaks. Sometimes she forgets to wipe the chocolate off her top lip, and for a godforsaken nanosecond, he thinks that sweets have never been more enticing.

Not that he notices or anything on _purpose_.

Katsuki's just (cursedly, but) remarkably observant.

He doesn't make himself approachable, nor does he ever return the conversation she tends to initiate on a weekly basis at the register. But she knows his order, has it ready for him by the time he enters, and knows his name through his credit card.

Meanwhile, he picks up observations on her here and there. Doesn't know her name, simply just resorts to mentally referring to her as Bakery Bitch. Doesn't know what school she goes to-Katsuki reduces it to having been some local university like him, considering she's able to work morning shifts. And most definitely does not fucking know _why_ he's even letting himself have these dumbass thoughts to begin with.

Maneuvering past his routine-like chess match thought process, he opens his laptop to finish typing up his final exam paper. He's gotta maintain his position of being at the top of the class, and Thursdays were the only days he ever did his homework. It was convenient being able to get it done here, not too far from both his apartment and his university. The rest of the week he dedicated to the gym after school. His independent balance between academics and bulking up had been going swell, for the most part, until:

"Bakugou?!" the blonde's brows knit together in a twitch before his eyes dart up to see a familiar red head.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Hedgehog Hair?"

His friend (a debatable concept) makes himself at home, shrugging off his messenger bag and leaving it slung along the frame of the chair opposite Katsuki. "I could ask the same for you," he replies. "What's good here?"

Bakugou Katsuki's scowl deepens. His safe haven has been sought out, perpetually disturbed, infected, _murdered_.

"Fine, I'll ask Peaches over there," Kirishima Eijirou grins, making his way to the counter.

 _Peaches_. It didn't really do her justice, but it was somewhat fitting, nonetheless. He's been hanging around Katsuki too much.

He watches the two interact, a committed grimace painting his usual stone hard features. She giggles, he laughs, and Katsuki's eyes narrow instantaneously (for reasons he can't and won't name.)

It has nothing to do with the fucking girl, he deems to himself, but every-fucking-thing to do with how his balance has been thrown off. Now he needs to find another serene, unpacked, unknown area to do his work in. Preferably one with a dark roast as good as here, spicy curry croquettes, and an angel face to remember his order—one who never fails to comment on the absurdity of the combination, to which he'd roll his eyes at and ignore in retaliation (though before leaving an extra dollar or two in the tip jar without eye contact.) He knows she'd be smiling, but he won't make anything of it.

Girls are a distraction. Romance is unnecessary and requires extra work. Every thought that forges its way into the crevices of his brain in he and Bakery Bitch's small two minute interaction is instantly disintegrated once he gets his shit done and exits the bakery. He thinks that if he had a superpower of some sort, he'd set fire to the weak idea of love in his life—let it incinerate, _burn_. No matter, this is what he's used to, and now, unfortunately has to alter due to the Fire Crotch bastard who had discovered this place now, too.

"Dude, this stuff is amazing!" Eijirou grins. He's come back to the table with an entire box of various pastries, ranging from custard tarts to red bean-infused waffles. The stupid shit must have blown at least thirty bucks on all of that. This bakery ain't cheap.

"Idiot," Katsuki retorts, packing up his things.

Eijirou craftily pries through the flaky almonds of a particular pastry before jamming the entire thing into his mouth. The fucking animal. After a satisfying gulp, he manages a, "Whaaaat? You can't leave yet. The others from Anthro are on their way, and I just invited Uraraka-chan to come join us on her break."

Uraraka, was it—maybe he'll remember. Maybe. Probably not, he tries to convince himself. He hasn't remembered most of their classmates anyway, despite their shared lunch break, occasional study groups, and social media test leaks.

"And why the fuck would you do that?" the hot-headed blonde asks, unsure of how to feel about Eijirou's… Eagerness? Friendliness? Whatever the fuck it was that got him her name. "Shouldn't you all be at school? The fuck you doin' here for?"

"One, she seems pretty bored. Just on her phone before helping me pick out these goods," his eyes gleam at the mixture of sweet and savory. "Two, lab was cancelled. Three, I found this place on Yelp—five stars, man! And four, what's with the sudden interrogation, Ba-ku-gou? Mad that I interrupted your personal tea-time?"

Eijirou watches in mild entertainment how Katsuki's internal fuming converts to external irritation. As soon as the bell hanging along the entrance door chimes and the familiar gang (Katsuki particularly remembers Half 'n Half and the bastard, Deku, the two fucking asses that always happen to score a point higher than him on every fucking exam) appear, the blonde stands, throwing his backpack over a shoulder as he crudely retorts, "Fuck it, I'm out."

"Ah," a softer voice cuts through behind him. "Leaving earlier than usual, Bakugou-kun?"

His scowl doesn't waver, narrowed eyes flickering up to meet large brown irises. Chestnuts. Although he presumes to look at her coldly, Eijirou notices his shoulders lighten up from its stiffness.

"Fuckin' useless to linger," Katsuki says abruptly after turning away. He swallows thickly, as if he'd been trying to convince himself that it's only a fucking bakery. It's _replaceable_. Once Deku, that one blonde prick, and the rest of them catch sight of their table, he trudges toward the exit. No point in staying a second longer. A single breath will not be wasted. Even for the likes of that Uraraka chick.

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He makes routine of studying and doing his work in one of the libraries out of town. Wifi access isn't totally limited, just surely slower. No sign of familiar faces. No black coffee, and no spicy snack. It's a fucking let down, but he has _some_ pride in the engagement of sacrificial acts. You win some, you lose some (but _not really_ because you only lose some if you fucking think about your losses like a pissbaby instead of focusing on your goddamn wins.) Bakugou Katsuki is no fucking loser.

So he doesn't step foot into that bakery for the rest of Spring, all of Summer break, and for the first half of his Fall quarter.

It took about three weeks for the need of his usual Thursday Fix to die out. He's always been pretty good at suppression.

As for the girl?

Well, she'd be a fucking idiot if she kept making his order prior to his arrival. It's a waste of her time, anyway. Not his problem.

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.

Their next encounter is less surprising than the reason behind it.

He first sees her when she pokes her bobble head through one of the library aisles he'd been browsing. He notices her first (shamefully so) and he inwardly curses his natural perceptive ability and keen peripheral vision. Doesn't help that she's totally fucking oblivious and completely unaware of her surroundings. Regardless, he stays put and continues his scope out for the _Odyssey_. Like hell is he going to initiate shit first.

A few long seconds go by, and Katsuki's irritation grows. He still can't find the book. (Most likely due to some dumbass who placed it in the wrong section since there's _supposed_ to be one available; he had gone through the process of checking—read as: having to ask the librarian, _another fucking_ _person_ , for help, as if he'd been _incapable_ or some shit.) Secondly, she still hasn't approached him, or at least, whispered his name loudly enough to disrupt the silence of the lobby, as he would have expected.

When he cranes his neck, just slightly enough to give him a view of the rest of the aisle, he finds her head submerged in one of the bookcases, her rear end making it impossible for anyone to get past. She's muttering a series of titles to herself, reading and brushing off novel by novel, indicating that she's also clearly in search for something.

Katsuki's about to head toward the opposite direction of the aisle to ignore her completely before he catches sight of a heavy book encased between her arm and her hip—the very one he'd spent his damned time looking for! With a surge of momentum and frustration, an emotional rampage that had been prone to take over at some point within his day makes him snarl, "Oy, gimme that book."

"Eh?" she almost bumps her head at the sudden demand directed to her. She's caught off guard, but manages to pull her head out before meeting the man's seething eyes with recognition. "So this is where you've been!"

Their two second interaction must have been loud enough to disturb the peaceful vicinity, since an annoyed _SHH!_ is thrown from some other unknown aisle in the distance. She flushes in embarrassment. He's left unperturbed. Fuck them for all he cares.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he spits in conceit. "As if you weren't already stalking me."

He knows it's a false accusation, but the deepening pink tint on her face as a result is exactly the reaction he'd been looking for.

"Contrary to your own self righteous belief, this _public_ library is actually located across the street from my house," Ochako whispers back harshly, careful of her voice volume.

"Did I ask?"

She huffs in minor annoyance, before her eyes settle back to its originally large shape. "If you could now just excuse me, Bakugou-kun, I need to find the rest of these books." She studies the list of texts before poking her nose back into the shelves. "Unfortunately for me, most of these have already been borrowed; probably because the quarter's already started."

"Lemme see that," he helps himself in snatching the folded paper out of her hand. He does a once-over, confused at the familiar list designed for lower division general ed. "You're a first year?"

For some peculiar reason unbeknownst to him (call it instinct), he'd been under the impression they were in the same grade.

She laughs lowly, embarrassed. "I took a year off to help run my parents' bakery. They couldn't afford to hire workers, so I offered, of course. But now I'm behind in school." She shrugs, a smile still plastered on her face. "Oh well. Just means I gotta double up on courses!"

"That's fucking suicidal," he comments offhandedly. But it's also pretty dedicated. Which is respectable.

Another _SHH!_ echoes. He ignores it.

Katsuki averts his gaze, contemplating whether or not she was deserving of his help. "You've gotta be idiotic to be taking double the amount of units, you know." College courses were not easy—and if they weren't _difficult_ , depending on the instructor, they typically involved tedious assignments or mile-long papers.

"Well, I'm a hardworker," she negates thoughtfully. He knows. He's seen her bake cookies, frost cakes, package breads, take customers' orders, balance a phone call on catering services, while simultaneously keeping the corners of her lips up. For awhile, he'd thought that it'd simply been her default look. Seeing the fire glow in her eyes and the determined bite of her lip now, he must have been mistaken.

"Suit yourself, Angelface," Katsuki digresses condescendingly, shifting this rather unnecessary conversation to the real business at hand. "But why the fuck do you have the _Odyssey_?"

"Because I finished the _Iliad_ ," she replies in unbothered nonchalance.

"Well, no shit," he grunts. "But those readings are requirements for upper division courses—"

"Then, I suppose I've got a good head start at the game, don't I?" Her smile almost looks smug, like a softer smirk, and Bakugou Katsuki finds it on the edge of threatening (and _too_ fucking deceiving.)

"Uraraka," he growls without hesitation, reaching for it. "Give me the fucking book." The fact that she's either simply reading it for pleasure along with the insinuation of getting ahead of him are equally disgusting reasons and exactly why she deserved it less than he did.

She moves enough to get the book away from his reach, but isn't quick enough to dodge his own body's force when he advances. In the end: she loses balance from her own repelling retaliation and knocks down several hard covers off the case beside her, and he, unfortunately, does not have that goddamned book in his grip and instead, has to hang onto the shelf for support before he plummets face first. His pupils dart for hers in one of his default glares, to which she starts to giggle at.

Fucking aggravating.

"All for a collection of poems?" her giggles erupt louder. "You're full of surprises. You even know my name."

His ears are _burning_.

The _bitch_.

"ENOUGH," a third voice booms. The two heads spin to the direction of the source, a clearly disgruntled librarian. "There have been several complaints and absolutely no compliance. The two of you— _out_."

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"Why in the fucking hell would I help you out?" Katsuki asks, after she'd given him a ridiculous proposition.

They're standing outside of the library, since they have apparently been 'temporarily banned.' He tries not to take note of what her house looks like across the street. Instead, mentally jotting down the matter that she seems to be a constant throughout every shift made to the consistency he tries to maintain in his schedule. Maybe she's to blame.

"Because there's stuff in it for you, too," she says, already used to his selfishness. Before he can retaliate, she pulls out (from god-knows-where, he actually wasn't sure) the infamous book that got them into this very mess. He hadn't realized she'd already checked it out. "I know you've kept last semester's texts."

What the fuck.

"So it's confirmed: _you're actually a fucking stalker_."

"Kirishima-kun told me, actually," Ochako pointedly corrects. Oh right. He's a regular at the stupid bakery now. "When I told him about how I was going to transition from full-time employee to student at UA, he told me that you're actually one of the brightest of your class, and that you tend to keep all the materials needed for success."

Katsuki wonders what else the dumbass told her, but is careful not to show interest.

"So, I can assume that you've kept, if not all, then most, of the required texts."

His brow raises, testing her, "And if that assumption is correct?"

"You'll let me borrow them," she concludes, satisfied.

She might be cute, but she's still a fucking brat and has deliberately misjudged his character. "Like hell I would."

Ochako swings the book around with a lazy arm to gear his attention.

"No fucking way," Katsuki deadpans adamantly. "I can find that shit on Amazon."

"Doesn't sound like something a 'bright student' would do considering you'd be paying as opposed to borrowing one in mint condition," she responds with skepticism painting her voice. "Are you positive?" This fucking girl knows how to push his buttons. But she does make a point with the unnecessary payment. He's got bills to pay. And the shipment probably wouldn't even arrive for another two to four days or so… and he needs it _now_.

Feeling his resolve dissipate is probably the worst thing he's felt to date. And by some bakery bitch? Someone's gotta be shitting him.

Katsuki's stare remains cold on her, "My books better be in the fucking best condition when you return them to me. No folded pages, no pencil marks, no stains."

With a genuine smile and a successful gleam in her doe eyes, Uraraka Ochako hands the _Odyssey_ over to him at that. He takes it with apparent annoyance, too headass to thank her.

"Let's go," she motions over to the sidewalk. To answer his questioning, hesitant glare, she continues, "To the bakery, duh."

"Why the fu—"

"Because no one's there, you were kicked out of the library, you need a place to do your work, and there's a coffee and a croquette with your name on it!" She rolls her eyes, grin from ear to ear, sick of hearing his profane whining. Her teeth are blindingly white in the golden hour. "Can't you connect the pieces for once?"

He scowls, aggravated at how bubbly, endearing, welcoming, pretty, and radiant she is.

(The warmth isn't something he's quite used to.)

"Mission complete," Ochako jokes, getting a head start. "Reel in favorite customer. A success."

"Oh, fuck off," he lazily sneers, slouching as he jams his hands into the pockets of his pants after throwing the book into his bag.

He follows behind her without further complaints.

(And when Katsuki lets his mind linger for only a brief moment, he decides that it would be quite easy getting used to something like this—)

It is 5:40-ish pm on a Thursday and Uraraka Ochako looks behind her shoulder as she trails to their destination, shooting a familiar, consistent smile at the view of him tagging along despite his crimson glare and perpetual frown.

(—settling into what is to be the beginning of a new, and probably lasting routine.)

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.

 _fin_.

* * *

 **_a/n:** this definitely came out much longer than I planned…...oops. anyways! this was lowkey inspired by my boyfriend because we met at a bakery heheh but we're nothing like the characters involved lmao.

moving along! I knew for a fact I wanted to do something bakery-related because i am a Bitch 4 Baked Goods and apparently Bakugou is, too according to this piece but i did initially struggle with which character i wanted to be the worker/the customer because the thought of bakugou being forced to work at his parents' bakeshop all grumpy and broody and sassy is probably the most precious thing… but i resorted to the stereotype- go figure. it just seemed more fitting and easier to write for but i obviously did get carried away and _still_ have yet to get their characterization right :/ but i'm hoping to improve as i go! maybe later on i'll do a role reversal if i still have some bakery juice to write out :)

kinda sad because the fic archive for this ship is kinda low! hope people contribute more and more bc the fics i've gotten to read are sosososo feelsy and brilliant and spot on and i need more kacchako in my life


	3. C - Chopped

**_a/n:** honestly, thank you so much for all of your reviews! wow. they mean so much and make me excited to write more and improve:) I hope you enjoy and continue to stay tuned! here's a shorter canon!verse

* * *

 **not your (manic pixie dream) girl**

C \- _C hopped  
_In which Ochako is an awful cook, and Katsuki surprisingly… isn't.

* * *

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"This tastes like shit."

Bakugou Katsuki spits out his bite of the pasta that had been served before the group of housemates. Since they'd been living together, an arranged schedule determined who prepared dinner for the rest of their class on a biweekly basis.

There were two requirements:

1\. Serve everyone. Make sure you make food that everyone can eat, and enough to feed all of them, even if people are absent from dinner. (This rule prevents selfish people— _Katsuki_ —from solely cooking for themselves when they're the designated chef for the night.)

2\. Make sure the food is cooked. If the food made is contaminated, contains expired ingredients, and/or is overall undercooked enough to the point where it may cause illness and thus prevent students from attending class and training, then Designated Chef becomes Designated Housekeeper for a week.

Tonight's cook: Uraraka Ochako.

"Ah, Bakugou!" Kaminari Denki exclaims, "So mean! I'm sure your meatloaf is fine."

Ochako mulls, embarrassed, "It's mac n' cheese."

The silence that follows afterward only heightens the awkward, the skepticism, and the fear in consuming the dish. She supposes it does look a little off, not quite like the picture that had been depicted with the recipe she'd found online. It was supposed to be baked macaroni, but due to having misread the timer, she'd kept it in the oven for just a little longer than it should have been left. She had liked to think that it wasn't completely burnt. But the discoloration—brown surface and blackened edges—those were hard to miss.

She sighs.

The heartbreak on her face must have been poorly concealed, since Iida Tenya instantly sits upright and lets his voice boom, an image and corresponding declaration that could have resembled a knight in shining armor making an important proclamation in hopes to heed recognition for his bravery.

"Even if it doesn't taste as we hoped," he begins, preparing to fork his entire plate down his throat. "I will eat it all, because Uraraka-chan spent several hours in the kitchen for us to have food on our table! And for that, I show my thanks!"

His dramatic antics are disregarded to his dismay (as per usual), considering the majority of those seated still remain hesitant. Tsuyu eyes the overbaked pasta warily.

"Oh no, Iida-kun, please," Ochako stumbles while removing her mittens. She proceeds to pull her phone out of her pants pocket. "You really don't have to do that. Even I can accept that it's… inedible. I'll order pizza right now! On me, of course!"

"It's actually," Izuku chews a few bites, taking a long drink shortly after to wash it down as quickly as possible. He tries to ignore the the odd texture of the ground beef she had mixed in somewhere along the process. "Not too bad, Uraraka-chan! You really shouldn't be ashamed!"

"Shouldn't heroes be honest?" Katsuki snidely mutters from the other side of the table, sick of every time Deku tries to be some kind of hero in any given situation, cavalier or serious.

In attempt to stand up for Izuku, Tenya intervenes, "Shouldn't heroes be chivalrous?"

" _Chivalrous_ my ass. Sounds like an excuse to lie. What's with the sugarcoating? I'm sure Uraraka can handle criticism." He shifts his focus to Ochako, who's still standing at the corner of the table hesitantly. No one misses his use of her name. "Your pasta's shit. Moving on. Pizza."

"Can we get an all meat supreme?!" Kirishima Eijirou interjects.

"How about half margarita?" intervenes Mina, to which brings about a twinkle in Yaoyorozu Momo's eyes in evident agreement. She feels bad for not even having touched her plate, but the guilt vanishes when she sees Kouda finish it without a word. At least _someone_ enjoys it.

"With pineapple!" pipes up Mineta.

"Fuck outta here with that pineapple shit."

"I… will preferably eat my leftover soba," Todoroki Shouto thinks aloud, standing up to grab his noodles from the fridge.

And with that, Ochako dials the number of their local pizzeria, prepared to purchase three large variety pies. They'll be gone faster than half the amount of time she spent making dinner.

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Bakugou Katsuki, on the other hand, is an unusually exceptional chef. They should've known when he'd help prep their meals outdoors, shockingly low-key with his useless skill in chopping the vegetables during their Summer camp—all accurate precision and efficiency with surprisingly delicate hands. It'd been a noteworthy glimpse, entailing the chef-like potential that could have been focused on if not in a world where quirks existed. Not even _Izuku_ had known of this hidden talent; only realizing that Katsuki was extraordinary in kitchen works when having tried the shrimp jambalaya he had stirred up for dinner one particular night.

Since his designated cooking night happened to follow after hers, she decided to take the opportunity, mind set on improving her skills. Even if this ability held no significance in the hero life, Uraraka Ochako had dedicated herself to a life of improvement in all aspects after being inspired by Izuku and everyone else around her. And she thinks that in the meantime, if she can't make the money she wants to for her parents until she's a fully fledged heroine, _perhaps_ she could prepare them wholehearted and quality meals, and contribute to the household _somehow_.

However, she shouldn't be surprised when Katsuki promptly refuses her request in teaching her the ways of cooking.

"You either got it or ya don't," he rejects, not even taking the time to look at her. He's cracking eggs into a bowl, undeterred.

The kitchen, his current private quarters during this evening, is silent, much to Ochako's surprise. She had pegged him to blast some kind of heavy metal or rock music while on his own, but now she presumes that he favors his silence. Makes sense, she thinks, since he tends to stray away from social outings unless given the chance to show off or compete in his own Boisterous Bakugou way. She looks around, studies him, anticipating to win him over.

"I'm sure Deku-kun wouldn't agree with that," she sneakily chides, knowing exactly how to push his buttons. A small smile pries its way onto her lips. "Didn't he go from zero to hero?"

Ochako watches his shoulders tense and the expression on his face flinch into intensified annoyance, ready for an explosive sneer.

"Look it, Roundface. I'm not gonna take the time out of my day to teach you how to make food _edible_ ," his eyes roll in her direction. She watches him whisk the pool of yellow, noticing how there is no cookbook, Youtube tutorial, or any source of instruction in front of him. He gestures the direction of the exit with his chin. "Scram."

Amused, she steers another route, ignoring his latter command. She's become too used to him. "How do you know how to cook, anyway?"

He throws a glare at her (angelic-pouty-face and all), before proceeding to grab an assortment of vegetables from one of the fridge compartments. "You're really not going to leave a fucking guy alone, are you?"

Ochako only smiles expectantly, undisturbed and genuine.

"Don't you have shit to do?" He starts cutting up a red bell pepper.

She doesn't, actually. She's finished her homework assignments and she had decided against going to the movies with Jirou, wanting to save some of her pocket change. Or so she had said. She isn't particularly interested in horror films (she's scared shitless), so the issue of money made for a perfect excuse.

She notes how despite his verbal exasperation, Katsuki hasn't yet fully raised his voice at her, signifying that there's a part of him that doesn't _completely_ dread her presence. Either that or she's delusional. Oblivious. Or even, apathetic. Regardless, her resolve is unshattering. She will not budge.

And if even _thinks_ to use his quirk to scare her off, he should think twice. She fiddles with her petal pink finger pads.

"If you won't tell me about cooking, I don't mind observing you," she says, her face resting in her hands as she places her elbows on the marble counter in between them. She doesn't care if she annoys him. She doesn't care if he throws around meaningless insults. She doesn't care if he speaks at all. Ochako is set on leaving this kitchen with either new knowledge or new techniques.

"Tch."

Deeming that any insult or reprimand shot in her direction would end up fruitless, he figures there's no use wasting his breath. He continues about, proceeding to cut into onions, tomatoes, and lastly, jalapeños.

Ah, that's right, Ochako thinks, letting her mind wander. He likes spicy.

She studies the fragility of his hands, quickly going through each ingredient with care. She remembers having first noticed him chop food atop a cutting board, in awe over how precise each piece was cut, quick and easy. _Or_ he made it look easy. When she'd try to mimic his movements, she'd nearly cut herself _and_ only half her pieces were relative in size. Not to mention she had also been unforgivably slow during the entire process; she remembers a bead of sweat rolling down the side of her head in frustrating focus.

Ochako wonders if he likes to do this at home. He looks so _natural_ too. Not that she'd purposefully observed his appearance. It would just be a lie if she were to say the look of Bakugou Katsuki calmly cooking a meal best to serve the entirety of Class 1A wasn't odd. Bangs pushed back by a slim black headband, casual tank top, Costco sweatpants (read as: his pajamas) and a calm expression—she _almost_ sees his appeal. Almost. He's pretty easy on the eyes when he's not growling at someone like an untamed animal. Ochako looks up from his hands, doing wonders with the food, smirking to herself.

"The fuck are you smiling about?"

She thought too soon.

The question comes off much lighter than he intended, and she wonders why his tone had been oddly softer than usual during the entire time she'd stepped foot in the kitchen—perhaps the effect of cooking.

"You're just so…" she slows down, waiting for him to wince. "Gentle."

"The fuck did you just say?!" Katsuki fires, raising his fist as he feels the nitroglycerin build in his palm.

Her smiles turn to lighthearted giggles, failing to reply to the expected backlash. She anticipatively watches him seethe, settling her eyes on the utensils he's using. As he relaxes on his own after a few sweltering minutes, scorning her bubbliness, he darts his glare over to the unprepared food and gets back to work. Never has he met a girl so… troubling. An actual pest.

Katsuki grabs a pan from one of the bottom cupboards, setting it atop the stove and turning the knob. Ochako finds it amusing that he has never resorted to using his quirks during the entirety of this operation. He pours the concoction of eggs and melted cheese into the frying pan and lets it sizzle. She may not cook well, but she can recognize an omelette being made when she sees one. Breakfast for dinner. Classic.

Although her taste buds prefer the sweeter sides of food, she's sure the others of their class would enjoy this meal. Especially Health Conscious Hanta Sero, who's pretty nitpicky when it comes to what he's consuming.

He sprinkles salt and cayenne pepper before plating a couple of his final products. Uraraka Ochako is positive that she can mimic his recipe and process. She'll probably practice the morning afterward. Breakfast should be easy enough. Simpler than a traditional dinner, she supposes.

"I cook at home."

Ochako blinks.

Did Bakugou Katsuki just say that? Toned down and composed? She _must_ have imagined it. His back is to her, since his focus is on the stove. If someone were to claim she'd been reading the lines of his back and analyzing the broadness of his shoulders prior, she'd shut it down. This is Bakugou Katsuki. Bakugou hot shot fire head King of Explodo-Kills Katsuki. No way.

"I figured!" she perks up. She hops off the counter barstool, skipping her way to his side and ignoring the quiet Bakugou-esque glare that lands on her. It's like her to hop onto any chance of opportunity she gets.

Under a low breath and without further eye contact, Katsuki mutters, "I take it you're probably going to try making this sometime in the near future."

How just knows _everything_ , doesn't he? He and Izuku really do go neck in neck.

Or she's just that obvious. But _still_.

"Keep the heat a little below medium. You gotta wait five minutes for the skillet to get hot," he directs. Silence follows, to which he reacts, "Are you fuckin' listening?!"

The pleasant surprise had ushered her into silence. She really hadn't expected him to give her instruction. And in such a cool manner? What?

"Y-yes," she sputters.

"Pour in the toppings after you flip, got it?" His voice roughens at the end. She nods persistently. After a microsecond of silence, he slides over to the side, an indirect gesture for her to take his spot in front of the stove. Faced with an omelette ready for flipping, she glances at him searchingly. He's actually letting her do this one. She conceals her excitement. He folds his arms over his chest and scowls. "Hurry the fuck up."

Ochako grabs the spatula, unphased and focused. Her tongue glides along her top lip, paying close attention to the sizzling yellow blotch. She flips it, following a light spill of his veggie mixture along the expanse of the egg. After a few expectant minutes of watching the ingredients blend and become a delicious melange accordingly, she mimics the burrito-like folds he had made with the spatula before sprinkling the salt and pepper along the surface. After slowly placing it on one of the plates along the counter, she whirls around to meet his eyes. She's all nervousness and excitement in a tiny, shuddering package. Her eyes are gleaming and she catches the soft smirk at his lips.

"That one's yours. Not letting your pain-in-the-ass interference ruin any of the others I gotta serve."

He'd intended for it to come off mean. Even she knows it was _supposed_ to be mean. But she's just too thrilled to even slightly take it as an insult. Her cheeky grin must be telling, since the curve of his lips instantly descend the same time his brows knit in aggravation.

She heads her way over to the pantry where she grabs a bottle of unfamiliar red sauce.

"Woah-wait- _what_ the fuck do you think you're doing?" he asks, pissed off at the thought of her needing to alter his recipe in some way.

She shrugs, uncapping the vial and designing a cartoon-like glaze on top of her omelette. "I have a sweet tooth."

He reads the label with a disgusted grimace. Sweet chili sauce. Before he's given the chance to sneer about her questionable taste, she scoops up a small bite of the omelette topped with sauce and stuffs it into his mouth. He angrily backs away, caught off guard and ready to incinerate a fucking bitch.

" _What the f_ —"

The nitroglycerin activation slowly comes to a halt after he swallows the combination of flavors.

"You'll be fucking sorry if you pull that shit with me again," he barks at her, wiping at his lips.

The look on her face is less apprehensive and more eager, and it is downright the most provoking expression. "It's good, though, isn't it?"

He _could_ say it wasn't bad. But he won't. His approving silence will have to suffice.

"If you tell a single fucking person that I helped you, I swear to _fucking_ god, Uraraka, I'll blow your hands off so you can never practice."

That evening, Ochako leaves the kitchen with two things she'd set out for, and one thing she hadn't:

1\. newly discovered cooking techniques

2\. knowledge on nutrition, blending, and combining of different tastes and textures

3\. and an unforgettable experience with a very laid back, didactic, chivalrous—for _him_ , at least, (and occasionally appealing) Bakugou Katsuki

.

.

When she takes a seat at the dining table, the first thing she notices about the dishes he sets are the puddles of chili sauce on the corner of each plate.

She shoots a friendly smile to their cook of the night, who purposefully ignores her cheerful motion, ears red-hot.

Who knew sweet and spicy would work so well?

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 _fin._

* * *

 **_a/n:** was watching Chopped and was inspired to make this aaaaaand I just really like the idea of tired/calm/in pajamas and a headband katsuki


	4. D - Designated Driver

**_a/n:** contains far-from-organized, sporadically-paced, disordered pieces of a drunk night gone wrong gone kind of… right? cheers to breaking rules

* * *

 **not your (manic pixie dream) girl**

D \- _D_ _esignated_ _D_ _river + the not-so-average_ _D_ _amsel_

Somewhere along her first night drinking, she loses her sweater, a game of rage cage, and naturally, her dignity. But not so much in that order.

* * *

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Come with us, they said.

Take another shot, they said.

Seven is okay for your first time, they said.

It will be fu—

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 **3:46 am.**

Ochako proceeds to puke the contents of her stomach out, a repulsive mixture of acidity from those goddamned vodka tonics to the bitterness of the beer she'd thoughtlessly chased them with. Seventeen and still so, so stupid.

"Goddamn bitch, you're a fucking mess."

Ironically enough, the view of the Zero Gravity Girl hurling on the side of the road isn't new to him—to anyone, actually, considering she had spent a year or so prone to motion sickness due to her quirk. So when she says she's gotta go, without a second's passing, Katsuki stops the motorcycle along the edge of the road and demands her _off_ because there is no way in fucking hell he's going to continue being designated driver if she gets her vomit on either his bike or jacket.

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 **10:04 pm.**

Okay, so she's never really done this before. This is obvious. But apparently they all do. This is also obvious.

Her sneaker getting caught in the rose trellis should have already signified that this was only going to be the beginning of a horrendous, but eventful night. And she _knows_ she could have prevented the stupid obstacle of getting her foot freakin' caught in the process of sneaking out of her room on the fourth floor by A: checking if her shoes were tied before climbing out of her window and B: (the more practical route) using her quirk to hover down. As for alternative A, she had simply and carelessly thrown her feet into the closest pair of Converse from her exit without having checked the status of lacing. In her defense, she'd been terrified shitless of what she had agreed to do and prior, had been pacing back and forth in her room in clear-as-day anxiety with the concept of sneaking out. When one of Jirou's earjacks tapped on her window, cueing her to leave, Ochako gulped and tried to mentally prepare herself for the repercussions that would follow shortly after the girls were caught.

That would be a nightmarish turnout. The fear of Aizawa-sensei's annoyance, however, did not induce as much fear as the inevitable, disappointing dread that would drown her if she had been placed on house arrest. There was no way in hell she could miss out on class and any opportunity to train. She came to this school to be able to kick ass, not get her ass kicked (and for something as stupid as a high school party! Not even by a villain. How shameful.)

As for route B, not only would using her quirk at this hour be a rule breaker (totally _not_ ironic at this point), but to get sick before even leaving? No thank you. If she was going to let herself participate in rule-breaking shenanigans, despite her torn feelings, she'd like to still try to enjoy _some_ of her night, in the least.

"Hurry up, Ochako-chan!" Mina ushers.

"Quit takin' your sweet time," Jirou Kyouka whispers loudly shortly afterward.

The brunette shakes her right leg in attempt to hurriedly escape from the entanglement caused by a single shoelace, trying to wriggle herself out of the situation. During so, she allows herself to glance down to look at the faces of the girls waiting for her. Big mistake.

One look at her current elevation, and Ochako feels her heart drop to her ass.

Alright, so she should be used to height. She wields gravity for god's sake. She should be used to levitating herself, too, but the past year she's been focusing more on strength—floating heavier mass objects, heightening her velocity, quickening her speed. Now her own body flying… that's another story. She still gets a bit sick at the thought. But she's almost there. Really.

The prevention of her motion sickness is definitely still in the works. However, as for experiencing height. Also another story. She gulps. Curse being on the fourth floor.

After finally letting the lace loose from where it had gotten caught, she scurries down the trellis along the wall as fast as she can, avoiding the length and keeping her eyes on her grip.

"You could have just dropped, y'know," Yaoyorozu Momo suggests (too late) as Ochako's feet meet the grass, a soft smile prying the corners of her lips upward. "I could have caught you or created a trampoline or something."

Ochako quickly double knots the ties of her red All Stars before replying, "It's no big deal. Quirk usage isn't allowed right now anyway and I wouldn't want you to waste the energy or risk getting caught for me."

"Woah, _woah_ , did you guys hear that jab?" Jirou asks sarcastically while leading the pact in the direction to off campus grounds, where their get-away-car awaits them.

Hagakure Toru giggles, skipping behind her. " _I_ certainly did."

From beside her, Tsuyu monotonously, pointedly states, "You do know you had a choice in coming along, right? There was never an obligation."

"We can turn around if you'd like, Uraraka-chan. We can drop you back off," suggests Mina.

" _No_ ," Ochako confidently bursts. She'd always been the one to miss out on their night-outs, feeling excluded during the days after when all they'd talk about for the following five days revolved around the events of their high school mishaps. It wasn't like she was never invited, either. She'd just been _responsible_ is all. Iida Tenya has served as a pretty big influence on her. The thought of him finding out about her breaking any rule causes a tremble to creep up her spine. She would never hear the end of it.

"Good," Jirou Kyouka turns her head to send Ochako a satisfied smile. "No pussying out now."

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The get-away car is jam-packed. It's totally illegal, but no one seems to mind… except for Ochako, that is. Squeezing this many people in the backseat… and without seatbelts? Is _this_ what she signed up for? She tries her best to act natural. Really.

According to Mina, the deal is this: apparently Jirou and some boy from Class 1B have been on and off—Awase, was it?—and from those sporadic hookups came about the inevitable hangouts with his friends, which had also led her to spend a lot of time with that class. At this point, she'd gotten well-acquainted with them. _And_ apparently every weekend, since their homeroom teacher is apparently much more easygoing than theirs (Momo thinks it has to do with the fact they're class B, but they'd fight her if she voiced that aloud) Kendo Itsuka throws some insane ragers. Open-invite. BYOB. Floors three to five are restricted. Screwing around is only allowed on the second floor. You break it, you buy it. Weed available.

It'll be fine. She'll be fine.

.

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 **11:38 am.**

"Whaaaaaaaat? I made that fair and square!" Ochako exclaims before sipping on nth red cup.

They disqualify her. The bitches.

How could they _not_ believe in her extraordinary, total beginner's luck, skill in the art of beer pong? And to accuse her of manipulating the gravity of the ball? How _dare_ they.

Had she really been that obvious?

Oh, well. Next. Strip poker or rage cage?

Her eyes sparkle.

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.

"It's only been about an hour," Momo observes, watching her friend's buzz become heavier as the minutes pass. "You think we should have monitored the amount she's had?"

"It shouldn't have been that many," Kyouka replies before taking another hit. She's always been more a smoker than a drinker. "Let'er have fun. Girl's gotta experiment some day."

.

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 **2:57 am.**

"Uraraka, fucking relax."

"I'll relax when you stop swearing," she dances away from him, a sight of swaying jubilance in a crowd of what he'd refer to as knock-off heroes. He knows he isn't totally welcome there. Not like he _wants_ to be there, anyway. He retaliates the judgmental stares with a threatening grimace accompanied by a middle finger. If anybody dares fuck with him, he'll incinerate them.

He trudges after her, feeling like a fucking idiot dog. He really had to lose a fucking game against the stupid shits of housemates and _had_ to end up being the designated driver for the very girl who had called each and every single one of them (with the exception of Four Eyes and Purple Ballsack, for some apparent reason) to spill that big ass heart of hers. She'd rambled on about how she's grateful for each of their existence and how their hard work in heroism have never and will never go unnoticed. Bakugou Katsuki included, to all of their surprise.

 _Am I not fucking admirable?!_ He had spewed out to the rest of the awakened boys in Class 1A.

 _What was that about?_ Kirishima Eijirou had asked, rubbing his eyes. They had all gathered on the first floor, clad in pajamas and confusion. Most of them were clearly half asleep.

 _It's obvious that she wasn't…_ Tokoyami coughed before correcting. _I mean, isn't in the right state of mind._

 _Uraraka-chan… drunk?_ The disheveled, green-haired, freckled boy had asked in shock. The concept of his fragile-angelic-gravity wielder friend-slash-potential romantic interest appeared to be new to him. _B-b-but where? How?_

 _Wooow, a bad side to Uraraka-chan?!_ Kaminari had squealed, clasping his hands. _How cute!_

Katsuki had rolled his eyes. Leave it to Deku to be the naive bitch and leave it to Pikachu to find it appealing. He smirks at the fact the Purple Ballsack isn't here. Must've meant she hadn't called him. _You fucks_ do _realize it's not unusual to drink at this age, right?_

 _The real matter at hand is who is going to make sure she gets home safe?_ Came in Todoroki Shouto.

 _And the rest of the girls, too, yeah? They're all MIA._

 _They do this every week. I'm 99% sure this is Uraraka-chan's first time joining them._

 _What a rebellious group of girls…_

 _Troublesome._

 _This does require the risk of getting in trouble with Sensei… again._

 _And getting unnecessary shit from Iida…_

 _So that's why Iida-kun isn't here. She doesn't wanna get in trouble!_

 _Who does?_

 _Who even_ can _, at this point in time?_

 _Err… So who's gonna step it up?_

 _I don't mind getting in trouble if it means making sure Uraraka-chan is safe!_

Maybe it was how Deku stated it; how it had implied that the Gravity Bitch was in need of saving, like some sort of damsel in distress, and how he had obliviously come off as superior for going against the rules solely to _Be A Hero_ that ticked Katsuki off beyond belief. His irritation at the comment must have been evident, and is _probably_ why Kirishima had intervened, stating that he shouldn't feel obligated since he was her closest friend, before suggesting a quick name-drawing game to choose who would take initiative.

Alas, Bakugou Katsuki had ended up in some house of some random knock-off hero, needing to associate, scout, and retrieve a lost pink-faced child. The stupid fucks had named this endeavor Mission Return Uraraka Ochako.

As if the bitch needed saving. If anything, just a little help.

"Time to go home," he demands behind her. She's randomly made it to the backyard, which he deems is going to be a pain in the ass to clean up. It's completely trashed with empty beer bottles and plastic cups. The entire area itself reeks of dank.

"Go home?" she spins around to face him, a pout on her glowing face. She leans in close. A little too close. He narrows his eyes. "But I don't want to."

Her breath is a breeze of pineapple rum, and although dealing with drunks isn't his preferred heroic act, hers is a better scent than the dark liquors his birth giver consumes on the daily. Gag.

"Don't be difficult," he mutters exhausted. "Am I really going to have to fucking carry your ass outta here?"

If he thought she was a little too close earlier, she's even closer now. Her eyes are the damned biggest he had ever seen them. He flinches back when her whisper comes in too close. She places a hand on his chest to steady him, before gripping his collar to pull him back toward her.

He ignores the heat she radiates. Her exhale ghosts over his lips as she murmurs, "You touch me, you fly."

"Is that a fucking threat?"

She releases her grip and turns around once again, dazily waltzing away in her alcoholic glory and annoyingly wide smile. "What do you think?"

With a single, effortless twist of her wrist, she has him in the air for a second he (shamefully) has no control over, before allowing him to plop his feet back down onto the concrete.

He grunts while hearing her snicker, trying to regain his composure.

Katsuki should have known this was going to be much more challenging than expected. It's Uraraka Ochako for fuck's sake.

.

.

.

.

 **2:33 am.**

" _Designated driver_? You're here to take her home?" Hagakure asks, after Bakugou Katsuki had ironically spotted _her_ first. Invisible girl and all. "Did you really not trust any of us to bring her back safely?"

"Don't get it fucking twisted. This wasn't _my_ idea and spending my fucking night here instead of in bed is the last thing I wanted to do," he replies loud enough for her to make out within the rowdiness of their surroundings.

"But she's not a baby. She can handle herself."

His eyes roll. "Tell that to fucking Deku."

.

.

.

.

 **4:28 am.**

"You're lucky this location is twenty-four hour," Katsuki comments grimly, watching her pour a mountain load of strawberry syrup on her powdered sugar waffles. She drowns the breakfast slash dessert slash post turn up meal before beginning her starstruck consumption, one that almost looks as if she hasn't eaten in days. She pays no attention to him, stuffing her face in and filling the hollows of her stomach.

He glares, watching her attack her side of bacon, as he taps his fingers rhythmically along the table.

The food and the gulps of water in between help her sober up fairly quickly. Momo had given her a few tips when it came to preventing hangovers, including to make sure she had tons of bread and water before going to bed. She hadn't questioned as to _why_ , though. But if she can sober up before going to bed, then that works, too.

She doesn't talk to him as she eats (either still too embarrassed, in shock, or only half-ready), leaving him to take a glance around the empty iHop. The diner-inspired restaurant's bright multi-colored lights and interior design give him a high definition view of the girl seated in front of him. Now he can actually _look_ at her, unlike his view of her outside.

For a person who'd just thrown up a shitload, she looks slightly better than he would have expected. The twinge of mascara she had on her (very long, he notices—he notices _everything_ ) lashes is smudged just below her eyes, and he's never seen her cheeks pinker. He swears they're a shade darker than usual. Her hair's been pulled up in a rather poor ponytail, and draped along her shoulders is his jacket, since somewhere along her night, she'd forgotten where she'd placed her sweater.

He had rolled his eyes when he saw her shivering after her rounds of puking all over the street. Before she knew it, he had covered her shoulders with the jacket he'd shrugged off before offering a single demand, "Wash it before returning it to me."

He had turned away from her only moments after, leaving it at that.

It would be a lie if he claimed he didn't find her in his clothing appealing. It's… attractive. Really goddamn attractive. He doesn't let his thoughts linger, though. The machinations of his sexually deprived teenage boy mind would do horrible things with the concept, so Katsuki resorts to keeping his eyes on her untouched hashbrowns as a distraction.

She must have noticed though, since after downing the rest of her water, she addresses him. "Are you hungry?"

He denies, ignoring the growl of his stomach. The aroma of the breakfast foods had just been enticing, is all. Not her not her _not_ _her_.

She smiles, soft and hesitant, before sliding the plate of potatoes toward him. She's _not_ fucking cute, he has to tell himself over and over.

"I told you I didn't fucking want them," he annoyingly reaffirms.

"I never said you had to have them," Ochako points out. She grabs the bottle of hot sauce to her left and pours it atop the still steaming hashbrowns. "They'll just be here. Fresh, still crunchy, and now with some flavor."

"Tch," he rolls his eyes. She hated spicy.

When he finally picks up the fork, he ignores her beaming smile, fully aware that the bright lights of the room make the shade of red that paints his ears visible.

.

.

.

.

 **6:11 am.**

"Can you stay?"

There is no reason for Bakugou Katsuki to be caught off guard. With how the night had gone, this should have been expected. She's been such a brutal, batshit mess, and he's already spent hours commenting on her deranged teenage girl absurdity. Even he—deranged teenage boy with immature and questionably aggressive tendencies—would have never placed himself in unnecessarily risky situations, the pathetic kind, he would specify: the ones so prevalent in movies and average "normal" (non-UA student) lives. Unless it had to do with fucking a villain up or something. That goes without question.

But for some reason (that he forces himself to push back and _not_ ponder over or he's _fucked_ ), he freezes.

It's as if she, herself, has some kind of gravitational pull—a _hold_ on him, or some shit. The fucking gravity girl. Because although he had set out to leave, there's just something about hearing the need in her voice that ushers him to back away from her door. It's almost instinctive, a heroic— _no_ , scratch that—hero- _esque_ (she's no damsel) reflex that keeps him in her vicinity.

"Now what do you want?" he scowls in the dark, turning away from the exit to face the foot of her bed.

"You," she pauses. Breathes heavily. His face heats up in an absolute flash—that is, until she continues, "To kill me."

Good fucking thing it's both dark in her room and she's too far gone to even glance over at him, or she'd very clearly see how dumbstruck he had initially looked. Luckily, her eyes are glued to the ceiling. From what he can see, she also has a large, shameful smile on her face. Katsuki wonders if she's on the verge of hysterically crying. She better fucking not.

Puking, rough-housing, and saving the day: these are the few things Bakugou Katsuki can deal with.

But _crying_?

Uh, fuck that.

"Please," Uraraka Ochako groans while turning her face into her pillow. She wants to barf all over again, and not because of the repulsive aftertaste of dark liquor on her tongue. The blurry recollection of pathetic things she'd whined about in the bathroom of the house party is enough to make her want to bawl and barf altogether. "Just blow me up."

"I'd be goddamn happy to."

"I was…" her voice cracks.

Oh no.

"So _embarrassing…_ "

She's crying.

"...at the party."

"You still are." He's not good at verbally comforting. Whatever.

Surprisingly enough, the comment manages a soft laughter to erupt from beneath her pillow.

"Let me guess. You were cryin' about not being enough for the bastard Deku or some shit like that, huh?"

The silence on her end is more than telling. And then a sniff. Confirmed.

"That's fucking stupid," Katsuki deadpans. This girl. Jesus.

"I _knoooow_ ," she sobs, dragging her vowels. "People probably think I'm so pathetic… that I want their sympathy for being in Deku-kun's shadow… I'm just w... _weak_. I'm so embarrassed."

"You should be embarrassed," he replies. "For feeling that way."

Ochako remains silent, pondering over what he means.

"It's one fuckin' thing looking like a sad shit mess at a party— _whatever_ —the majority of fuckin' losers there probably have their insecurities. You just had a shot too many in comparison. Fuck their judgment," Katsuki goes on, unaware that he's speaking much more than usual. "But reducing yourself to ' _weak_ ,' and thinking that you're in someone's shadow—now _that's_ fucking pathetic."

She stays still.

"You've gotta be shitting me if your confidence is that low," he remarks, shutting his eyes for a tad too long when he shifts his hand over to the back of his neck. He sighs. It's almost pity. Not quite, but almost. "Get it together. You're stronger than you think."

With that, Katsuki turns on his heel and moves from the foot of her bed to the door.

"I'm leaving now."

"Wait," he hears, as one foot makes it past the doorway.

He pauses, growling. " _Now wha_ —"

"Thank you." For everything, she thinks. He knows.

After a wordless, acknowledging moment, the door shuts behind him and he continues to his own room.

Whatever.

.

.

.

.

.

In the morning, she'll be a little surprised when she wakes up without a hangover. She'll be tad confused to see that her recent calls have been deleted from her phone, and that none of her housemates (aside from the girls she'd partied with) will approach her over last night's misbehavior (or her forgotten, alcohol-influenced phone calls.)

She won't know that he'll have threatened all of the boys to keep their mouths shut to save her from the embarrassment.

.

.

 _fin._

* * *

 **_a/n:** the amount of times I almost seriously gave up on this piece is incredible.

I also am a sucker for the idea of Bakugou riding a motorcycle oh my. i just had to


	5. E - Envy

**_a/n:** older+angsty!kacchako

* * *

 **not your (manic pixie dream) girl**

E \- _E nvy_  
She was never his to begin with. _OR_ Loving her was a double-edged sword.

* * *

.

.

.

.

She comes to you the night the bastard breaks her heart.

You and she both knew this was going to happen eventually; it's impossible for heroes to pursue their occupation and give the career of heroism their complete, whole, insufferable _all_ , when in a committed relationship. The significant other, who _should_ be placed before one's self, remains in the shadow. They become baggage: a middle-man, a burden, and in the end, a sacrifice. There's a reason All Might dedicated his life to one of solitude—his sole purpose being committed to the greater good of the world.

You're her second choice, her backup plan, her rebound, her little fucking boy toy and you fucking hate it. You fucking hate how she chose Deku. You fucking hate how _he_ was the one to have to struggle through the choice of heroism and love—how _he_ was _always_ the one to have the endless opportunities, the choices—whether it be to inherit a quirk or the ability to choose between a career and Uraraka Ochako. You fucking hate how time after goddamn time, you were never in her line of sight. You fucking hate how throughout the years, you grew to love someone that was never yours to begin with.

It's your fault, really. You're older now. You can accept this.

(Though it had taken years and years and years of maddening, distraught, self-inflicted aggravation.)

She never wanted you to love her. You never wanted to love her, period.

The fucking optimistic, exuberant, colorful, wide-eyed burst of sunlight, driven beau—

(Bitch.)

It had simply just _happened_ , gradually and without your control and with only the slightest notice from time to time that you'd push aside almost instantly, to the back of your mind with every fucking feeling you ever felt aside from rage. Who has the time to linger on _feeling_ things? Sounds like a fucking Deku or hell, even Todoroki thing to do. Sensitive pricks.

Maybe there was a breaking point you avoided. Maybe she consumed you throughout every growing interaction and the memories that have gradually built up in the four years at UA. From sparring, to partnerwork assignments, shared living spaces—her glowering smile and gleaming eyes had been consistent throughout it all. And sometime, somewhere, amidst it all (you couldn't pinpoint even if you tried), these consistencies began tugging at your goddamn heartstrings. When she'd talk to you, your palms wouldn't be the only thing burning, sweating, in ways that didn't correspond with your quirk. When she'd embarrass you (because for some stupid fucking reason, she had the _power_ to), your ears felt as if it'd been set aflame (and you hatedhated _hated_ when that heat would creep up on your neck, and worse: your face—along the bridge of your nose and meeting the expanse of your cheeks.)

It's probably why you let her in.

(It's probably why you've always let her in.

There's no point in denying it to yourself at this point. You would spar her with reason. You would save her in any detrimental scenario with reason. You would fucking worry about her with reason. You _wanted_ her to get stronger. You helped her. Supported her. Empowered her.)

So when she shows up at your door nearly seven years after your graduation—the night she chose and the night you warned her of what you knew was _bound_ to happen eventually—you don't close your door. You don't say anything, actually. You leave the door as open as is, no less wider and no less narrow. You meet her eyes, sullen, large and never-changing.

And then:

"Bakugou-kun."

It rolls off her tongue so smoothly, like she's been saying it all her life. It sounds so foreign to you. So disgustingly unrecognizable. You fucking hate it.

(Because how dare she fucking waltz back into your apartment building and step foot atop your complex's wooden floors and look you in the eye and say your fucking name so casually and—)

Whatever. She'd always done what she wanted.

And despite how troublesome that was, you always found that so attractive about her.

(Loving her was a double-edged sword.)

.

.

.

.

You're not exactly sure how it starts.

You know you initiated it, though. This, you're positive. She's too hesitant in the beginning of her visit. She's courteous and soft, in her words and her steps. She doesn't know what she's allowed to do, what lines she can cross beyond the (arguably courageous) step taken from simply coming here. She's waiting for your _fuck off_ , but you won't gift her with familiarity. You've gotten smarter, colder.

And you're annoyed. Well, you're always annoyed, but more so. Angry. Tired. Dead fucking _exhausted_ of the time wasted on thinking of her. Of wanting her. Of not being able to fucking _forget_ her. And the stupid bitch probably doesn't even fucking _realize_. But it's not like you're surprised. She'd always been pining over someone else. Despite how vexatious it was (correction: _she_ was), your feelings never wavered. Unfortunately so.

She eyes your rather dark apartment space, her pupils glazing over every inch of furniture and every intricate detail in between. You just watch her, hands in your pockets, frown intact. While she studies your living situation, you study her. Her brown locks are secured in a bunch on the top of her head, giving her about an inch more of height. She's still so small. You figure she probably hasn't grown any more since UA. She hums, sweet and pretty. You're not going to fall for the honeycomb facade she's kept so well. You, of all people, knows she's not the fragile, delicate angel all the stupid fucks of their class fell for.

Oh, she was so much more than that. (If only they had simply _looked_.)

You surprisingly don't yell at her. You don't even put your nitroglycerin to use. Instead, you channel your energy elsewhere. In between her fumbling, a muddle of _I don't expect anything from you I just wanted to tell you that you were right you were always right I'm so stupid I knew I should have listened to you_ —you've somehow managed to inch closer and closer until you can close the space in between your two bodies and seal her lips so she can just _shut the fuck up already_.

"You stupid girl," you breathe in between, inhaling each and every one of her gasps. She took and took and took from you. It's _your_ turn to take. So you steal her air and her personal space, kiss after kiss. "You stupid fucking girl."

Your whispers are harsh in her ear, slipping past sharp, gritted teeth, and she responds eagerly to your physical aggression. One of her hands have tangled themselves in your hair, another grasping one of your shoulders for dear life as you let your hands graze the surface of her ass before your fingers curl to a tight grip to haul her up. You immediately shove her against the wall, and the moan that escapes past her parted pink lips is something you'd probably die for.

She says your name again and again and again in between each motion and _fucking shit_ , it dawns upon you that you're letting her use you. You halt for a moment, giving her breathing space when you inch away just slightly. Your eyes are on fire, narrowing in on hers, addicting and daring and so, so brown. All you see is the same angel face who'd challenged you at age fifteen at some stupid sports festival.

She's using you, alright, but you don't give a fucking shit. You are so fucking into her. You have _always_ been so fucking into her.

So you carry her to your bedroom while she continues nibbling the crook of your neck, setting off fireworks in your stomach. It almost feels like you're fucking floating, but you're well aware not even an ounce of her quirk is being used. You hate yourself for allowing her to have this power over you. But two can play at this game, and there's no doubt that you can set her insides aflame in retaliation with only a few flicks of a tongue.

You throw her onto your unmade bed before settling yourself between her legs, hesitating solely to see the clouded look on her face.

"Please," Ochako ushers, and she thrusts, wanting to close the gap between her core and your mouth, but you're quick to repel her movement for the sake of teasing.

If she's gonna be gone in the morning, since you _know_ she will be, you might as well play this game how you want.

"Say my name first," you demand, glaring. When she murmurs variations of your name in between every shudder, you let her nails scratch plastic love into your skin.

(since you both are so consumed by desperation loneliness heartbreak wrath weakness).

 _BakugoukunKatsukikunBaku_ —

She pulls you in like skin-and-bone gravity and you want nothing but to cling to her flesh.

The tips of your fingers leave a trail of goosebumps along the soft of her skin. You shut your eyes and drink her in since she has come to you. And tonight, you'll come for her.

.

.

 _fin_.

* * *

 **_a/n:** and here we had a sucky scenario that i shamelessly love. (i also do not know how to write smut so bear with me)


	6. F - the Firsts of a blooming Friendship

**_a/n:** alive. it's been awhile. enjoy :)

* * *

 **not your (manic pixie dream) girl**

F \- _the Firsts of a blooming Friendship (or _something _like that)_  
The insignificant moments snuck in between the firsts they'll always remember.

* * *

.

.

.

.

* * *

 _i. the first time she left her mark_

* * *

"Quit scowling at me," she mutters, annoyance in her perpetually bubbly voice. Her padded fingers work craftily and quickly, holding the gauze against his gash after having splashed alcohol on every inch of the fresh wound.

Bakugou Katsuki side eyes her, watching as the Zero Gravity Girl, quirklessly (poorly) tries to heal him. She pulls the bandage tape she's holding between her teeth to wrap it around his upper arm. He can't complain, since it had been his rule to never resort to the nurse during these sessions. This arrangement allowed them to not only test their physical strength and battle techniques, but their stealth and endurance.

Stay quick on your feet.

Never forget to dodge.

Be able to defend yourself.

Do _not_ go lightly.

If you're struck, it's on you. It's proof of your opponent's victory, after all.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks. He had really let his guard down for an infinitesimal fucking _instance_. When the hell did she get so fast?

"Your bicep is _huge_ ," she complains, evidently burdened by the amount of times she needs to wrap the tape around his arm to secure the gauze.

"Nnngf," he rolls his eyes before wincing in slight discomfort (read as: shameful pain.) "You would think — _ah, nng_ — that a normal fucking girl would find that kind of thing attractive."

Ochako tightens the wrap.

"Fuck, cool it, already."

"Wrong quirk." She packs up the first aid kit after wiping a droplet of sweat from her brow with a flick of her index finger. Her cheeks are still pink from the sparring. "If you wanted Todoroki-kun to patch you up, maybe you should have practiced with him."

If he grimaced at her mentioning of Half and Half's name, she certainly missed it.

"So, we good for today?" She asks, dusting herself off. She readjusts the sweatband on her head to keep the stray hairs away.

"The fuck you take me for?" the hot-headed hero-to-be snaps. He stretches his arms out and feels the nitroglycerin building up in his palms. "You think after one measly scratch that you've got me beat?" He instinctively fires at her feet, keeping her alert.

Uraraka Ochako reflexively jumps and lands a few steps back before allowing herself to take a graceful leap upward. She releases the gravity holding her weight down and remains placed in the air above him, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She knew her words would rouse him enough to continue. She knows he would prefer to overdo it rather than underdo it. She watches as his crimson stare narrows in on her. The smirk on her lips sets his hands aflame.

They go at it until the sky settles into a burnt orange.

.

.

.

.

* * *

 _ii. the first time she gets hungover_

* * *

"You're a fucking idiot," he declares. It wouldn't be Bakugou Katsuki if he hadn't insulted at least once within a four minute time frame. "Just drink this."

Ochako eyes the cup warily. She takes it after an impatient shake of his hand. Although she is skeptical, she is moreso desperate, and much more _ridiculously_ in pain. She was used to motion sickness, headaches, and vomit, but this throbbing was definitely something she had never experienced. It was nausea paired with a sour taste that wouldn't leave her tongue no matter how long she brushed her teeth for. In addition to that, there had been an inescapable scent of booze that followed her everywhere. She had unfortunately underestimated the power of last night's opponent. In the words of her unlikely comrade (who had surprisingly whipped her up some two-minute hangover antidote)— _fuck. Fuck_ Mister Jack Daniels.

"Whose dumbass brought the hard liquor?" the rather calm, king of fire-explosions-all-hell-and-wrath asks.

It's ten in the morning and the rest of their housemates are still locked up in their own rooms, probably just as hungover as the sickly girl in front of him. Thank god he had refused, even after much of Hedgehog Hair's incessant pushing. Like hell he would be seen at social gatherings and participate in local high school adolescent culture. Beer pong and a game of truth or dare? You've got to be shitting him. He'd rather be caught dead than be caught hanging around sloppy peers dancing to shit music or having ingenuine, obnoxious heart to hearts whilst hogging the only fucking restroom available. He's lived irresponsible alcohol culture vicariously through his birth giver.

"K-Kaminari-kun," the brunette mumbles. Her head tilts down, slapping her cheek against the marble island. She's lazily slouched along the kitchen counter, subconsciously counting each heartbeat that thrums away at her temple.

He admits it's a bit amusing seeing her so… out of it. "If I directed even the smallest amount of my quirk at you right now, you'd die, you know."

What's left alive of her tired, chestnut eyes dart to his in mild irritation. He's right. Ochako manages to sit up straight. She eyes the cup in her hands for a cautious second before resigning with any last words and tasting the concoction. She won't let doubt settle itself in the crevices of what's functioning in her limited working mind.

"This," she pauses, mid slurp. "...is surprisingly pleasant."

"Did you expect my piss or some shit," he retorts before filling up his water bottle. If her head hadn't been so distracting, she would have stifled a giggle. A small smile should suffice. "It's sugar water."

Ochako quirks a brow, curious.

"A teaspoon of salt, eight sugar, orange juice, water, and a fourth of a banana," the blonde lists. "You better fucking remember that because I only made one serving and I ain't fucking tending to every sick loser in this house."

"I meant _you_."

"The hell you getting at?"

" _You_ , Bakugou-kun," she corrects. She rubs the sides of her forehead in small, circular movements. "You've been surprisingly pleasant this morning."

"You're fucking delusional. I didn't help you because I _wanted_ to. _You_ bothered _me_ and burdened _my_ morning," his voice is still noticeably calm, despite his typical harsh, profane Bakugou speech.

He's probably used to dealing with hangovers, she mentally concludes. He knows how to make remedies, knows how to be quiet, and the most shocking of all: knows how to take care (...of others!) Deku had briefly mentioned that the blonde's mother had a tendency to drink a little too often when Ochako had asked if the explosion activator was going to be present at last night's party, implying that Kacchan would probably be sick of that kind of scene.

It also means he probably expected this outcome for today at one point, too.

"You better not fucking approach me 'til you're done being less of a human," he snaps. He misses the smile that erupts afterward. Her head might be aching, but she's not _blind_. "Chew on this, too," he chucks a small piece of ginger at her before making his leave. It bounces off her forehead and onto the counter. She finishes up the remainder of the hangover recipe after watching his retreating form.

Surprisingly enough, it isn't the pain of the hit that outdoes the hangover. It's something much more pleasant.

.

.

.

.

* * *

 _iii. the first (slow) dance_

* * *

It's not so much a dance really. It's a steady, practiced, four minute act in a ballroom done to solely disclose information without raising suspicion from the bystanders in the city's annual masquerade they were ordered to infiltrate. Rumor has it that there's an upcoming attack by an organization seeking vengeance against the town mayor due to recent controversial policies.

Their mission? Find the supposed terrorists. Protect the civilians.

Location? A black-tie gala.

It required rehearsal, professionalism, and quiet deception.

Totally _not_ King of Explodo-Kills' type of mission.

Bakugou Katsuki never failed to express his distaste for an unnecessary assignment, specifying that this had been more _spy_ work, than _hero_ work and that it could have been solved by simply cancelling the event. After a marathon of complaining, he eventually digressed, knowing Eraser-For-Brains wouldn't ever let him switch, anyway. Partnered with Uraraka Ochako had also been a mere, unfortunate coincidence. She'd annoyed him from the beginning, having pointed out that another attack would eventually happen, regardless of a cancellation.

The Zero Gravity girl, on the other hand, had been on the enthusiastic side of the spectrum after learning of their weekend assignment. Unsurprising. Something about never having gone to anything fancy before. He'd snapped about both the inconvenience and stupidity of needing to play dress up with her, and demanded that he better be able to pummel some villain's ass by the end of the night.

And now, well—now they're dancing.

This is their first public interaction at the masquerade, pre-planned and well-versed. They'd slipped into each other's step during the crowded, traditional waltz, all cavalier in the midst of masked urgency.

"Main room: left pillar, right wing: center pillar, left wing: center pillar, lobby: center ceiling, exit: chandelier," he proceeds, never wasting a breath. He's been here for less than twenty minutes and he's already over it. "None at the entrance."

"Nice to meet you, too, sir," she chides, mentally noting every area she'll need to check to dissemble. She looks him up or down, eyes shining under the crystal luminescence of the large room. Her mask is white, to match her gown, making them look much darker than usual. They probably mirror his own suit. "You clean up rather nicely."

"Shut the fuck up," he growls under his breath. If there had been something about her eyes that captivated him, he brushes it away without a second thought. He's good at setting things on fire, anyway. "Apparently Blondie over there thinks so, too."

"I didn't think that King of Explodo-Kills actually had game," she laughs.

"Do you think at all?"

She disregards his last comment, immune to his jibes. "They're wearing these pins," she shares, having observed this during their individual scope out prior. During their rehearsed twirl among the many other spins, flowing gowns, flying curls, and shining eyes of the upper-class civilians within the expanse of the smooth floors, she inconspicuously moves a small, golden pin from her hair into his line of sight and into his blazer pocket with effortless gravity manipulation. "It's the symbol of their movement."

"Where the hell did you manage to get this one?" Katsuki asks, accidentally moving his hand to her lower back in a misstep. They both choose to ignore it. That's a different kind of danger.

"Left one tied up for you behind the coat check," Ochako winks. "I figured you've deprived your quirk long enough."

Not bad, he thinks.

"And his quirk?" he asks. Bakugou Katsuki doesn't thank. (He doesn't need to.)

"I couldn't figure it out."

His mouth comes to the shell of her ear during a slowed sway, "Useless." He insults, instead.

The gravity defier rolls her eyes in response.

The steps of the arranged dance come to a subdued close, and for the briefest of moments, he lets his eyes linger. Not that he'd ever admit it, but she really wasn't a completely indecent partner.

"What is it now?" she asks impatiently, awaiting for yet more Bakugou-esque slander.

"Was just gonna say that for fuckin' lower class, you clean up rather nice, too."

Although both unexpected and backhanded; it's from him, so she'll take it.

Stunned, she forgets to thank him. (She doesn't need to.)

She wastes no time when the music subsides, sliding out of their (acted) grasp in order to deactivate every bomb he's found. The fact that she can still feel what his hand felt like on her waist is both distracting and electrifying. And she swears she can still feel the red of his eyes burning into her back as she slips past the crowd and into the lobby.

This is a fire they'll choose to ignore.

.

.

 _fin._


	7. G - Gossip Girl

**_a/n:** I am so sorry

* * *

 **not your (manic pixie dream) girl**

G \- _G ossip Girl_

* * *

.

.

.

.

Gossip Girl here, your one and only source into the scandalous lives of U.A.'s Hero class elite.

Spotted: a heartbroken, green-haired hero.

Word on the street is that our beloved gravity wielder, Uraraka Ochako, dumped the ever-so-adorable, Midoriya Izuku. Looks like a defeat that even Recovery Girl won't be able to fix. Sorry, Deku.

But why, you might ask?

Perhaps it has to do with wanting something more.

Not getting your needs met, Ochako-chan?

No sparks? No fire?

Well, we know someone with lots of it. But maybe you're already well acquainted.

Xoxo

.

.

.

.

"I realized that I just needed to be me," the brunette shrugged, petal pink finger pads sifting through magazine pages she had absolutely zero interest in actually reading. She continued, "—before I could be Deku's girlfriend."

She eyed the cover of the fashion booklet briefly, her mind elsewhere. It was spread on Momo's bed before she had taken it upon herself to lounge in its place instead. She made it a priority to throw herself onto the fluffiness every time she entered this chamber. She didn't even need to _try_ to make herself comfortable. Her satin duvet and velvety sheets made it closest to cloud-like. Momo really slept like a goddess every night.

Can't relate, Ochako thought to herself, hugging a plush to her chest.

Her eyes rolled the instant after hearing an unconvincing _Mhmm_ from the incredibly nosy Mina. She sighed, shoving the magazine to the side before rolling over onto her stomach to face the other girls. The pink, curly haired hero had been fixating her focus on her newly painted toes.

They had all been relaxing in Momo's room (it was the nicest of the house, after all)—bathrobes, face masks, and 11pm snacks sprawled along the floor (with none of that gluten-free shit that Health Freak Hanta Sero stocks up in the kitchen. God forbid they indulge in hot Cheetos and Diet Coke for once), which had gradually become tradition for every Sunday night. It was the girls' end of the week cleanse. Sort of. (If saturated fats and artificial sugar could be deemed a cleanse.)

But it was bonding, nonetheless. A quirkless, pressureless much needed break from the realities of hero training.

Except tonight was different. Ochako would much rather prefer being bombarded by ice, electricity, _fists_ even, than an interrogation regarding her private life by the girls of class 1A. Also known as: the first class bitches for gossip.

That night, in particular, had taken an inconvenient turn for the gravity defier, since the rest of the heroes were keen on intensifying the pressure of the atmosphere. She might be able to manipulate gravity, but their persistent air was something out of her hands. They'd been trying to squeeze out nonexistent information over her breakup for the past hour and a half now. All eyes had rolled and for some incredulous reason, no one believed that she had actually broken off her short lived romance for _herself_.

"You sure about that?" Tsuyu interjected before crunching on a stick of cheesy goodness.

"That blast on you definitely put you in the spotlight over this," Jirou Kyouka added. She wandered over to the speaker, strategically placed beside the door to keep boneheads (read as: Mineta and Kaminari) from eavesdropping. She grabbed her phone and changed the song to something _less_ cheerful pop. She was never one to bluntly state she hadn't been a fan of anything on Ochako's playlist, but it was painstakingly obvious by the amount of times she wore earbuds during their girls' nights. "Not gonna lie, it straight up threw you under the bus."

"There is _no bus_ ," Ochako retaliated quickly, her voice an octave too close to whiney. The room slowly quieted into an awkward hum, hesitant in any more prodding. She knew what they wanted her to admit, but in reality, there really wasn't anything for her to say. She wasn't guilty of any kind of mischievous affair. The current gossip that had surfaced about her insinuated that she had wanted more than Deku (false), that there was someone else (false), and that she probably broke Deku's heart (that one—probably, unfortunately, true.) "Gossip Girl made me look like a complete brat. Why believe in all their posts anyway?"

"Because their accusations have been proven to be 98.9% true," concluded Toru, the towel wrapped firmly on top of her invisible head indicated she'd been facing Momo, who had been spraying rose water along her cheeks. "Ever since it was confirmed that Todoroki-kun was gay, nothing has been the same. Sorry Momo-chan."

"No girl knows tragedy until they find out the boy of her dreams chases boys, too," the raven-haired girl dramatically sighed. Ochako held back a snicker, only to have heard one coming from Jirou, instead. "Anyway, how'd Deku deal with it?"

Ochako could vividly recall the softness of his green eyes melting into hers, mentally acknowledging the fact that that moment would be the last instance she would ever have the pleasure of being something _more_ with him. She remembered her stomach flipping and dropping and feeling a kind of nauseous she should have been used to, especially with her extensive training. This was different, though. It was a nausea induced by heartbreak, guilt, determination, and anxiety. It made her feel weak, and she was _done_ with that. Her hands had been sweating profusely, but with every ounce of courage she could conjure up, she swallowed the fear down.

It wasn't as if she didn't love him. She did. Purely, naively, and ridiculously so, for the first two years at the academy. It was something sweet, and grew gradually every day with a friendship that only naturally transcended into something more. It had consisted of sweet beginnings: from contagious blushing, nervous laughter, awkward first dates, to even _more_ awkward (but ever so charming) first kisses.

She loved Deku. She loved everything about him.

So it wasn't as if her decision to end their relationship had been abrupt, nor had it come with any ill intent. She would never purposefully try to hurt him, despite what the misinformed rumor mill suggested. And Deku already knew that, too. She had spilled her entire heart to him during their closure, so she'd been sure she would have nothing to worry about in regards to the aftermath.

Ochako was obviously mistaken. It was her fault for not regarding for how the rest of their class would see it. She didn't even think they'd _care_. However, the airy stares and sudden quieting of the atmosphere whenever she'd enter a room was enough indication that there'd been some talk about her.

How could she be so stupid?

Of course people chose sides.

She groaned aloud, feeling awful. But her decision was her own, and she would stand by it with full confidence. Deku modeled that by example.

Heaving a breath of resignation, she decided to open up in order to clear up that stupid rumor. It would be the best thing to do at this point.

So, she worded it exactly how she had grown to feel.

Although she cherished their relationship, which had been filled with constant support —

He'd just been so confident, so radiant, and so successful. He had come from nothing, yet here he was: accomplishing _everything_. And it was inspiring, surely, but also pressuring. Although he'd claimed to be beside her, it never _felt_ like it. It had always felt like he had been levels beyond her, surpassed her ever since day one. And it wasn't his success that ever bothered her—it was her inability to catch up to his pace. It was feeling like she was a burdensome weight on his shoulders. The simple idea of him needing to stop in his tracks to wait for her _killed_ her.

He was doing so well, in every area she had been troubled in, and it stung whenever she could not possibly be the one to share his victories with, yet alone relate to any of them. She was proud of him, every day, always. But it was growing difficult for her to be proud of herself.

She couldn't grow sufficiently with him by her side. She couldn't focus on herself. She always always _always_ compared. And she _hated_ it.

She didn't want to live in his shadow. She didn't want to solely be known as Deku's girlfriend. She wanted to make her mark. Be herself. Be her _best_ self.

She remembered harsh words that burned and stung and _driven_ her to stand back up during an intense sparring match.

 _You're Uravity for fuck's sake_.

And she loved the sound of that.

So she decided.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Congratulations," a low voice uttered from somewhere in front her, resulting in a sheepish, alert _eep!_ from the brunette. She'd crept quietly to the first floor for a good two or three cups of water in hopes to feel better after that sinful, caloric "cleanse."

A shudder of relief fell over her when she recognized who it belonged to from an exposed glimpse of the ashy blonde hair catching the refrigerator light. She told herself it wasn't the familiar, broad shoulders she'd first noticed.

"On my breakup?" she asked, annoyed. "I bet you're glad that I broke Deku's heart. He and I are still going to be best friends, you know. He knows I'll always love him like that." The last thing she needed was this Hot Shot's commentary. She folded her arms above her firmly secured bathrobe. She took note of the recently washed cutting board and pot beside the stove. So this was when he cooked his pre-scheduled food, she almost thought aloud, at a time where he'd be less likely to have to deal with unwanted commentary or run-ins. (Like so.)

"I could care less about what you did to that loser," Katsuki clarified, sounding bored. He killed a water bottle in less than four seconds all the while busying his gaze to anywhere but the girl with nightly side braids and chestnuts for eyes. He most certainly did not notice either of those things.

"Then why else would you congratulate me?" Ochako asked with sudden curiosity. Her lip quivered when she loosened her grip on herself. He didn't notice that either. Really. He shouldn't have.

He shoved his newly finished meal prep into the fridge before finally letting his red eyes sink into hers. She pretended she didn't feel a jolt of electricity in her chest. His inching closer to her worked to temporarily freeze her, only to have the moment ruined as soon as he _kept walking_ , pushing abruptly past her shoulder with absolutely no hesitation. Before she could retort on his lack of mannerisms and straight up rudeness, he gave her an answer.

"'Cause you did something for yourself for once."

Admittedly thrown off, she took a moment to realize that he hadn't even cared to torment her on the stupid Gossip Girl rumor. He surprisingly didn't give her any attitude, nor even care to ask about her decision. He'd already known.

Once she had turned back around to acknowledge the fact that Bakugou Katsuki could, indeed, be a decent human being, he had already disappeared, leaving her to think that maybe, possibly, Gossip Girl could have been onto something both of them might have been too blind to see.

.

.

 _fin._

* * *

 **_a/n:** This was inspired by the scene where Blair tells chuck she needed to make a name for herself before being his girlfriend, since she felt like she could never shine or be her best self while beside him/since she needed a lot of growing to do away from him. I remember when someone mentioned how Brad and Angelina thrived together, she snapped back about how that was only possible since Angelina won an Oscar first. lmao. true!

anyways Dan/Blair should have happened since they were always equals. fight me


End file.
